Lockwood & Co: Casebook
by Starfire072302
Summary: Join the Lockwood & Co as they battle evil entities and spooks of all sorts in this collection of cases. Of course, with a little Locklyle sprinkled in.
1. The Weeping Woman

_**And so I'm back in the Lockwood & Co fandom for a while, so I decided to do this. **_

_**I'll write little ficlets, each detailing cases with the gang! I want to have people suggest prompts as well, cuz I like writing for other people. Let's begin.**_

* * *

 _Case #1: The Weeping Woman_

If you even went to school after hours for things such as extracurricular activities, you'd know how eerie it strange emptiness, all the classrooms are dark, everyone has gone home for the day. The hallways are dark, the doors all closed. You can peer through those windows installed in classroom doors and view the empty desks, scattered pencils and pieces of crumpled paper littering the floor like dead leaves, the occasional forgotten backpack leaning against a chair. It feels like a ghost town, something abandoned. Now, imagine that mixed together with miasma and the feel of being followed.

That just about sums up what it's like to be inside a haunted school, where Lockwood & Co had taken a case. Grimsby School for the Gifted and Talented was the name of the place; the building we were investigating was called Molly Keller Hall. It was very old, the windows foggy with age, squinted and tired. The building was built from worn bricks, a fair few of them broken. In short, it was in need of repair. The school board had begun to renovate the building, but after three deaths, they called us in.

It wasn't used for class if that's what you were wondering. It was one of the school's girl's dorms, which made this all the more troubling. I could imagine it was so for both the girls staying there and the workers. It would be tough to sleep with the fear of a ghost, and it would be tough to work with the constant chatter of teenage girls. The school installed strips of iron across the thresholds of the dormitories, which was a bit safer, but the problem was there were no bathrooms in the actual dorm rooms. The only bathrooms were communal, down the hall on each floor.

Three girls living on the fifth floor had gotten up in the night to use the bathroom (separately, not all at once,) and had met their grisly end at the hands of a ghost. Those who had gotten away claimed a female figure had attacked them in the bathroom or not far from it. The focus of the haunting seemed to be in one wing.

Which brings us to where we are now.

"So," Lockwood's grin was bright and shiny as ever as the four of us sat in one of the building's common rooms, "Tell me more about this ghost."

Sarah Norbury, a pretty student maybe a little younger than me sat on the sofa across from the one Lockwood and I sat on. Holly stood behind us, her pencil poised and ready above a notepad. george sat in an armchair a little to the left of the sofa, munching on cookies.

A tray of said cookies sat on a coffee table between the two sofas, a pot of tea and a collection of cups sitting next to it.

Sarah was willowy and pale, with large blue eyes accented with too much mascara. Her blonde hair was tied neatly into a ponytail over her shoulder with a white ribbon. She had a small mouth, covered with lipstick that was a shade of fuschia that wasn't exactly her color. She wore a white button up with a blue tie. Her school blazer was gray, the school's crest stamped on the left breast. From this distance, the mascot looked somewhat like a deranged owl. Her plaid blue skirt was pressed and neat, her black school shoes shiny. Even the socks she wore were clean and spotless.

She batted her overdone eyelashes at Lockwood when he smiled, and I heard Holly make a noise of annoyance over my shoulder. I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

There was silence and eyelash batting before she froze, smiling dumbly. "What?"

Lockwood's smile came again, though a bit more strained. This sort of exchange had been going on for the past five minutes. "The ghost, please tell me about it, Miss Norbury."

She batted her eyelashes again, and Holly cleared her throat, her voice light and pleasant. "Look, miss, we would like to get to our job before the sun fully sets, so please hurry this along."

Sarah blinked again, as if she hadn't done enough of that already, but nodded. "Right, yes, the ghost. It _was_ traumatizing, so I don't like to talk about it. But I will if it helps."

"Thank you," chirped Holly, and I could hear the tinge of annoyance in her voice.

"It was a lady. She was dressed in a nightgown, and she was soaking wet. Her mouth seemed to be moving, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. But she started getting closer, so I ran back to my room."

"That's... helpful, thank you." Lockwood gave her a close-mouthed smile, and the eyelash batting returned. "Can you give us anything else?"

"That's all. You've already spoken with Millicent, yes?"

"Yes," I replied, "Millicent's recount of the event was more... _detailed_ than yours."

"What Lucy _means,_ " Lockwood chuckled, "Was that Millicent seemed to have had a longer encounter than you."

"Well," George chimed, his mouth stuffed with cookies, "She _was_ under the influence of Ghost Lock, so that's to be expected."

"George, chew with your mouth closed," Holly said quickly, and George swallowed his mouthful audibly. He removed his glasses, wiping the lenses on his sweater, replacing them on his chubby face.

Lockwood smiled again, folding his hands. "Yes, well, this is all we need, thank you, Miss Norbury."

Sarah stood, batting her eyelashes, her eyes not moving from Lockwood's face. As she exited, she turned back, waggling her fingers with a smile. The door shut with a click.

After waiting for a beat, Holly burst into laughter, followed by me, followed by Lockwood. George was close by.

"Her eyelashes!" I said, and Holly snorted.

"Her eyelashes? That lipstick was awful on her! Did she have something stuck in her eye? That didn't look as flirty as she wanted, that's for sure."

We had a good laugh before finally falling silent. Lockwood looked at the clock that hung on the wall above the door.

"We should be getting set up. It's almost sunset."

* * *

Once we reached the with the reports, we separated and began our investigation. From my vantage point, and I could see the communal bathroom on the other end of the corridor. Doors lined the hall, a fair few of them decorated with stickers and posters. A few had whiteboards attached to them, notes and doodles scribbled there in various colors of dry erase marker. The hall was shaped like a T, branching off from the hall I stood in, and I could see the edges of more doors. The rooms were dark and quiet, as the girls who lived here normally were spending the night in one of the other girl's dorms. I reached into my backpack; I turned the tap, the ghost attached to the skull inside the jar's, (which was, in turn, inside the backpack) droll voice filling my head.

 _"Oh, another case. How charming. Almost as charming as that girl who was giving Lockwood the eye."_

I rolled my eyes. "Sod off. Do you sense anything?"

 _"Oh, nothing important. The works, psychic energy and- LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!"_

I tore my rapier from my belt, whirling around, but nothing was there. I snorted. "Very funny."

Malicious laughter echoed in my head, and I rolled my eyes. _"Yes, it was very funny. Glad you agree."_

"I was being sarcastic," I muttered as I knelt down, pressing my fingertips to the floorboards. I got nothing. I replaced my rapier at my belt, cursing the skull mentally. I traveled a few feet forward, trying the same procedure. Again, nothing. I decided to enter the bathroom, moving this along a bit faster.

The bathroom was large and very empty. The room itself was roughly u-shaped, and I could hear the distant drip of water from somewhere, probably one of the shower stalls. The floor was concrete, clean enough, a wall of bathroom stalls across the room from me. Sinks lined another wall, my flashlight glinting off the glass.

I rounded a corner, and the area there was lined with shower stalls, their curtains were drawn back. two bathtubs were against the far walls,

 _"Ooh, creepy in here, isn't it?"_ The skull said, and I ignored it.

I tried to find the source of the dripping, but I checked every shower and none were dripping.

That wasn't the shower. I drew my sword. The visitation had begun. I knelt slowly, pressing my fingers to the tiles. I caught faint traces of sound. I raised my head, looking at the bathtub. I walked forward, placing my fingers against the side of the tub, focusing. It was like a door had been opened, sounds filling my head. Weeping, water running, dragging footsteps, gurgling, and finally, silence. I looked at the faucet of the tub.

Slowly, something dripped from it, splattering on the floor of the tub. It was ichor, obviously. It was an inky black, and more droplets joined it, splattering with decisive taps.

 _"Careful, Lucy. She's here."_

I heard psychic static in my head, faint weeping making a soft crescendo. I turned with my sword at the ready in my hand.

Around the corner, I could see the faint glow of Oher-light. Greenish-grainy ghost fog filtered into the room, soupy and thick.

The ghost was a phantom, her features in sharp focus. She was dressed in an old-fashioned nightgown, the collar frilled. The skirt hung limply around her legs, which were as thin and pale as candles. Her feet, which were almost invisible, were bare. Her arms hung at her sides, her fingers thin and brittle looking. Her hair was black, soaking wet, hanging around her head. A clip held the bangs away from the face, which was pale and tearstained. Her lips were blue, eyes wide and staring and completely white, devoid of a pupil. Her face was painted with blue and purple abrasions, her eyes sunken and her face tinged blue. This marked her as a drowning victim.

Water dripped down her body, splattering on the floor in the form of ichor. Other-light encased her body like scarves, its glow staining the walls a ghostly green. I could hear faint sobbing, and tears ran down her expressionless face.

I realized with a shock of fear that I was trapped.

 _"My baby..."_

The ghost's voice was hollow and breathy, its whisper crawling down my spine like tendrils. I took a deep breath to shake off the creeping fear, my grip on my rapier firm.

The ghost's form flickered, other light spilling around it. _"My baby! WHERE IS MY BABY?"_

Sobs echoed through the room, and my hands grasped at my belt for a salt bomb. Before I could move, the ghost looked forward, seemingly right at me.

And she charged. I screamed, jumping back and toppling into the bathtub. Shreiking sobs peeled through the air and then were drowned out by a tremendous crash. Bright green fire briefly lit up the room before dimming, and a form with a sword ran past me, following the retreating other light. I clambered out of the bathtub, the plasm that had gathered there singeing the hem of my skirt.

I ran around the corner in the direction of the ghost, only to run straight into someone's back. It was Lockwood; a salt bomb was clutched in his hand, ready to throw. He cried out in alarm when I ran into him, whirling around, sword waving. I ducked quickly to avoid getting decapitated.

"Oh," he breathed, "Luce, it's just you."

"You didn't notice me before? I fell in the bloody bathtub." I sighed, and he gave me a half smile.

"I guess I was focused on the ghost."

I made a noise of assent. "I'm glad you were, though, because you just saved my ass. I almost got ghost touched back there."

"Oh," Lockwood's smile broadened. "I guess all is well, then."

There was silence for a moment before Lockwood spoke. "There's a really bright death glow in here, not far from those bathtubs. Look around here, the source might be nearby."

I nodded, walking back into the shower room. The bathtub had begun to drip ichor again but at a quicker rate this time. I figured the source may be near the bathtubs. I crouched beside the one I'd fallen in, tugging at it with all my might. I'd seen this before, wall cavities behind heavy pieces of furniture. Perfect place to hide a body or an object.

Moving the tub was certainly easier said than done. I gave a grunt of effort, and it jolted away from the wall, the momentum causing me to fall flat on my back, my legs folded awkwardly below me. After straitening myself, I tugged again, and a scraping sound was heard.

Lockwood appeared around the corner. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Moving a bathtub. What does it look like I'm doing?" I dropped my arms, moving to the side of the tub previously facing the wall and pushed. It moved easier this time. I turned to the wall, and sure enough, there was a plank of wood nailed to the wall.

"Help me, get your crowbar," I said, tugging my own from my belt. I attached the hook to the top of the board, Lockwood doing the same. We both pulled, the flimsy plank snapping with a tremendous splintering sound. I heard psychic static again, and I glanced over my shoulder. The ghost was drifting around the corner again.

"She's coming," I said, switching on my flashlight. I heard the sound of Lockwood's rapier as it cut through the spirit.

I've said this bit before, I'll say it again. You may wanna skip this bit if you're easily icked out. Inside the cavity, which was haphazardly dug, was a woman's body. The skin, which was pale blue, was tight and shrunk against the skeleton, the teeth grinning at me morbidly. From what I could see of her lips, they were a sickly shade of bluish purple. Long, dark hair was fanned around the head in coils, stuck together in clumps like when you don't brush your hair after getting out of the shower and just let it dry. Her eyes were half open, and the actual eyeballs looked like milky marbles. Her body was covered by a white nightgown, frilled collar, her fingers limp. Half-moon indents showed on the heels of her hands.

I very much didn't want to touch it, but an agent's gotta do what an agent's gotta do. I pressed my fingertips to the hand, and a flood of sound and raw emotions coursed through my body like wildfire. Screams, gurgling, sobbing, the running of water, a man's deep laughter. I pulled my hand away fast.

"Lockwood!" I called, and the clank of metal could be heard, his breathless shout came in return. "I found the source!"

"Great! That's great, Luce, now can you contain it quickly? This one is an aggressive one."

I took a silver chain net from my belt, unfolding it. I draped it over the body, covering it from head to toe. The psychic pressure in my ears blinked out. I heard Lockwood panting in the silence.

His voice came in the darkness, a bit weary. "I need a strong cup of tea."

I smiled.

* * *

"Lilian Nettles was her name," George remarked the next morning at breakfast. "Her child got taken from her after she was proven to be an unfit mother and the child's father took custody. So she went insane. She went to the child's school, but the father was waiting for her, and he drowned her in a bathtub."

I smiled wryly, "that's charming. Really goes well with my toast."

George's glasses gleamed in the morning light. "Oh, isn't it just."

It was always nice to enjoy a morning after a successful case. I smiled at Lockwood, and he smiled back.

Another job well done.

* * *

 _ **I did it! Yay! Okay, so this will be a series. I want you guys to give me prompts and ideas for adventures you want to see the gang go on, and I'll try my best to meet your expectations. Anyway, stay tuned!**_

 _ **~Starry**_


	2. The Chanting in the Chapel

_**My reviews aren't popping up on the website, but I can see them from my email. Okay, so I have a prompt from the lovely Lingerscool. This should be fun.**_

 _ **Prompt: Insane Asylum.**_

 _ **Let's begin! Thanks for submitting the prompt!**_

* * *

 _Case #2: The Chanting in the Chapel_

As we got out of the cab, I immediately felt uneasy, and we weren't even inside the building yet.

Said building, Hartford Hospital, which had been abandoned not long after the Problem started, loomed over us. It was located in eastern Surrey and by just looking at it, I could tell why no one wanted to go near it. It was creepy as all hell. Imagine those haunted houses in horror novels you'd read without your parent's knowledge late at night, now double that. If appearance alone was enough to twist my insides, I was quite heedful of the interior.

It was, as aforementioned, a vast building, built from worn bricks. Towers soared over our heads, lightning rods and intricate rooves crowning their tops. The windows were like unblinking eyes, the glass cracked. The cracks ranged from hairline to completely shattered; some of the window frames were totally empty. I could see tattered curtains of a faded floral pattern in them, though some had no curtains altogether.

"Well, this is charming," Lockwood said behind me. George gave a noise of assent.

"This probably somewhat of a cluster," George said, and I could hear papers shuffling in his hands, "seeing as how many people died in asylums back in the day. Lobotomies, electroshock therapy, trephination, exorcism, isolation, hydrotherapy... All that good stuff."

"What's Trephination?"Holly asked.

"They'd drill holes in your head," George replied. Holly made a noise of disgust.

"Yes, charming!" Lockwood said again, but his cheerfulness was forced.

We saw the door to the vast structure creak open, and a man emerged, walking towards us. He was tall with broad shoulders, his graying salt-and-pepper hair slicked back over his skull. He was dressed in a tweed suit, and he gave a close-mouthed smile as he approached us.

"Hello, you must be Lockwood & Co?" He shoved his hands in his pockets. He reminded me of a coyote in the way he smiled. "We spoke over the phone, I'm Cornelius Watts."

Lockwood stepped forward. "Yes, I am Anthony Lockwood, and these are my associates, Lucy Carlyle, George Cubbins, and Holly Munroe. George here has done research on this place over the past few days. Quite the history it's got."

Mr. Watts studied us all, his gaze lingering on Holly and me the longest. He shook Lockwood's hand firmly, and they launched into a conversation. According to him, he wanted to preserve the history of the place, but it was so haunted that setting up a museum would be difficult if there were ghosts. He soon left in a black car which I hadn't noticed before, and the four of us were alone with the asylum.

"I don't like that man," Holly remarked, and I nodded in agreement.

"Well, he's our client. If we solve this case, we won't have to see him again." Lockwood grinned brightly, hefting one of the duffel bags over his shoulder. "Let's head in."

Sure enough, the interior was as dilapidated as the exterior. Dusty couches were pushed against the walls, end tables with lamps beside them. A desk was on the far side of the room, a door behind it that read _'Warden.'_

On either side of the room was a pair of double doors, each with signs indicating which wing of the hospital they were above them.

The sun was setting, dipping below the horizon. The light that came in through the grimy windows was dim and filtered. We set down our bags.

"Alright," Lockwood said, "First thing's first, in a location such as this, we need to split into teams. I'll go with Georg-"

"No, no," Holly interjected, "You go with Lucy, I'll go with George."

Lockwood blinked in surprise before nodding. "Yes, fine, I'll go with Lucy. Holly and George, you go together."

I looked at Holly briefly and I could have sworn I saw her wink.

We took our things from the duffel bags, I clipped a loop of iron chain to my belt, making sure my flares were stocked. My rapier hung at my hip, waiting. Lockwood crossed his arms over his chest.

"Luce and I will take the right wing. Holly, George, you take the left. When we clear those wings, we will work our ways up to the next levels, and continue until we find the bigger type twos. When we get rid of that source, the smaller type ones will die out."

George wiped his glasses on his sweater, and he and Holly went through the doors to the left. Lockwood and I took the right. And as it got dark, I could see the outlines of shades drifting through the corridors. There was a woman, hunched awkwardly in the corner, her white hospital gown stained and dirty. She flitted in and out of focus, but my inner ear picked up what she was saying.

 _"I hear him, he hears me, there's nothing there, we're alone, leave me alone, give me to him..."_

I felt a small spear of pity pierce my heart. I tuned it out, turning to Lockwood, who was peering around the corridor, his eyes narrowed. I knew he was using his Talent; sight.

"Lockwood," I hissed, "do you see that woman in the corner?"

"Yeah," Lockwood answered, "I'm seeing more than just her, though. Look just there, it's a Bone Man, in that room."

I turned to where Lockwood gestured, and there was a room with the doors completely removed. In the corner was a hunched, emaciated form, swathed with Other-Light. It was a man, dressed in a straight jacket and a pair of tattered trousers. From what I could hear, he was crying softly.

"Yeah," I said softly, my voice laced with pity, "I see him."

A few rooms over was a woman's softly glowing form, her features whispy. I could make out a pair of hands buried in her long black hair, her knees drawn to her chest. She was laughing very softly. I quickened my pace. Just another shade.

As we reached the other end of the corridor, one of the closed doors jolted. Lockwood and I stammered back. A pale blue hand slammed against the glass, and faint cries of pain filled my inner ear. I glanced down at the handles, and a padlock and iron chair was wound around them, preventing whatever was in there from escape. Lockwood turned to the door at the end of the corridor, pushing it open. It gave a mighty creak, and a gust of cool air hit our faces.

We were outdoors all of a sudden, a cliff dropping down to a lake was visible. The rest of the hospital was built along the cliff, steep staircase carved into the cliff face leading down to the banks. On the other end of the lake was an expanse of forest. The overcast, moonlight sky sure made for a creepy atmosphere. A glimmer of light caught my eye. I saw a woman standing at the edge of the cliff not far from us. I almost ran to her, but then I noticed she was glowing softly. She stepped forward, plunging down into the rocks below. On the other side of a cliff was a small form.

It was a girl, from what I could see from far away, glowing softly. Her pale hair blew in the wind. The sight was so melancholy.

Who would leave a child alone in somewhere so dangerous?

I felt my strength drain, and I began to walk towards the cliff's edge. What was the point? I felt the misery of it all pulse through me, my muscles loose. The cliff's edge looked so releasing. I could end it all, the child would bother me no more.

Something firmly wrapped around my waist.

"Lucy," Lockwood's voice came softly, "It's a Solitary. Fight the Ghost Lock."

I felt myself come out of a haze, blinking. The spirit was still lingering there, and the ghost lock rolled off it like waves. I steeled myself, allowing Lockwood to pull me away from the cliff.

"Now," Lockwood said, his arms still around my waist, "There's a chapel over there. Let's go inside."

I nodded. "Um, Lockwood?"

"Yes?"

"You can let me go, now. I'm not under Ghost Lock anymore."

Lockwood laughed slightly. "Right. Yes." He let me go, and I turned to face him. The chapel was a small white building with a rusty bell hanging below the steeple. Its windows were covered by faded blue curtains.

Lockwood and I pushed the doors open. They were warped with age, so this was no easy task. I fell on my stomach when the doors burst open, Lockwood stumbled forward into a pew.

"Lucy," Lockwood hissed, and I looked up from my spot on the floor. I pushed myself to my knees, brushing off the front of my coat.

"Yeah?"

"By the altar, there's a death glow. It's really bright. I can also see a figure, but the death glow and the other light are mixing."

I looked at the altar. What I saw was probably less clear than him, but I could see the form of a young woman. Her back was to us, and I could see that she wore a hospital gown, much like the other ghosts we'd seen. Dark curls spilled down her back. Her head was bent at an unnatural angle. From what I could hear, she was muttering phrases from the bible. When I stood up, my foot pressed on an unstable board, which creaked.

The ghost's chanting stopped. She rose to her feet, her skirt spreading around her pale legs. She turned slowly, her head swaying. When she was fully facing us, I could tell her neck was surely broken. And her eyes were completely gone, bloody sockets left behind. Her lips were turned sharply downward in a grimacing frown. Her lips parted very slowly, and red tendrils dripped down her chin.

"Careful, she's blind, Luce," Lockwood whispered, and I hadn't noticed him move beside me. I nodded. I could hear the chanting begin again. She turned around, lowering herself back to the ground.

"Specter," I whispered, and Lockwood nodded.

I reached back into my backpack, turning the tap on the jar inside. The Ghost's jeering voice filled my head.

 _"Finally, I thought it would be forever until you talked to me. I was so lonely all alone, Lucy."_

I rolled my eyes. "I need help finding the source. This one is dangerous."

 _"Oh, yes, I can tell. She'd ghost touch you very quickly if she could see you. Good thing whatever killed her plucked out her eyes for us. But try checking behind the altar."_

I started but kept my voice down. "Behind it? Skull, she's _right there_."

 _"And that isn't my problem. Her source is back there, I think."_

"Fine," I turned to Lockwood, "I need to go behind the altar."

Lockwood's eyes widened slightly. "Did the skull say the source is back there?"

I nodded. "Or that's what it claims."

I gave the jar an unsure look, and it stared back at me, one spectral eyebrow quizzically raised.

 _"You want to be trapped here until morning? Be my guest. But I'm telling you, I think the source is behind the altar."_

I huffed as quietly as possible. "I have to go over there. Please, watch my back."

Lockwood gave me a crooked smile. "I always will."

I ignored the flush of emotion at his words; emotions were always a good way to draw visitors. I rose as quietly as possible, beginning my journey to the altar. I heard the noise of Lockwood shifting, and the ghost's chanting faltered for a moment before continuing strong. I swallowed the fear, steeling my nerves.

The specter was wreathed in Other Light, its glow illuminating its surroundings. I tried my hardest to keep the floor from creaking.

Too late. My foot fell on a spot of rotting boards, and the splintered under my weight.

 _"Aw hell,"_ came the skull's voice.

The ghost rose faster than a shot, her hair fanning around her head. She launched herself in my direction, but Lockwood tossed a salt bomb into her form, it exploded into a shower of salt when it hit the ground. Salt sprayed into my hair and across the front of my coat. The ghost shrieked, darting away from the bomb's detonation spot, trying to launch itself at me again. I drew a salt bomb as well, and it blew salt into the ghost's form.

"Lucy!" Lockwood raced towards me, his sword drawn, "Go, get the source!"

I made a mad dash for the altar, which was a good ten feet away. I could feel the force of the entity's rage, soupy and boiling. When I reached the other side of the altar, all I saw was a flat surface.

"Skull!" I shouted, there was no use being quiet now. I heard the impact of another salt bomb; Lockwood's grunt of effort.

 _"Yes, what?"_

"You said behind the altar! Now what? There's nothing bloody here!"

 _"Look harder!"_

I growled in frustration, trying desperately to find anything. I pulled off my glove, the chill of the manifestation biting at the exposed skin. I shoved my fingers against the floorboards. Psychic static, though it was faint, filled my ears. Oh. _Oh._

Under the floorboards. Now that I looked closely, the ones I'd placed my fingers against seemed like they'd been nailed down faster and with less precision than the others. My mind flashed briefly back to the school bathroom case as I wedged my fingers under the loose boards, pulling hard. They gave way relatively quickly, but my fingers stung a bit.

In the cavity I'd revealed, a pair of scissors sat. They were stained with a dark liquid, and when I touched them with my bare hand, I had to pull it away for fear of getting frostbite. But the echoes I got from that split second was enough for me to know I'd found the source. I put my glove back on, pulling a silver chainlink bag from my belt, dropping the scissors inside. The psychic pressure dissipated until it finally was gone.

"Got it!" I said, my voice odd and tired.

"Good job," Lockwood said, "back into the building we go."

"Smashing," I said.

The next few ghosts were smaller and less significant, though a few more Specters were encountered in the upstairs wings. They were significantly weaker than the one Lockwood and I had just faced, though.

We finally regrouped around two in the morning, Holly and George looking as haggard as Lockwood and I were.

"Anything interesting?" Lockwood asked. George sighed.

"A shining boy and a Dark Specter, but nothing else very substantial. I think these type ones are starting to fade."

I chuckled dryly. "We were bombarded by Specters."

Lockwood smiled, patting me on the shoulder. "But Luce and I handled it, didn't we, Luce?"

I nodded, the warmth of his gesture spreading through my body.

We did another few sweeps of the property, and as the sun began to rise, we sat in the lobby in a circle of iron chains, eating biscuits and drinking our fill of tea, still nice and hot in our thermoses.

I had a feeling this would be another one of those days I'd sleep until well after noon.

* * *

 ** _This ghost that I created scared me. Yay?_**

 ** _Anyway, if you want to see me write something, leave it in the reviews, and feel free to tell me what you thought! Don't worry, I don't bite. Thanks again, Lingerscool for the fantastic prompt! Stay tuned!_**

 ** _~Starry_**


	3. The Vanishing Hitchhiker

_**Yet another prompt from lingerscool, love ya! Thanks for keeping me inspired. I'm back in school so I'll be balancing my writing with my schoolwork. But expect updates from me more often. And a thing I'm going to do is play Holly up as more of a matchmaker for Lockwood and Lucy because I think that would be funny.**_

 _ **NOTE: Those of you who read my story Hangman's Forest, I updated it. Go read that! It has 30 chapters now! Yay!**_

 _ **Anyway, this one is about a kidnapped hitchhiker, which is a primary American urban legend, but I'd made it a bit more English for Lockwood & Co's sake. **_

_**So let's do this!**_

* * *

 _Case #3: The Vanishing Hitchhiker_

I've never had a problem with the gorier cases. Ever since I started working as an agent, my tolerance to gore has become pretty much unlimited. With one exception.

Ones with hundred-year-old victims were not too bad, and if the body was the source, that was easier to stomach. The skin is mostly shrunken down around the skeleton, and the blood that remains is dried and brown. The hair looks like stringy yarn, and the face looks like a sun-dried raisin. Far from pleasant, but something you have to get used to in my line of work. But when the victim is fresh, like I suspect it to be in this current case, things are different.

When a body is newer, the skin remains smooth, and it looks almost alive. The eyes look like they could open any second, the hands look like they could grab at you on a moment's notice, and the legs look like they'd support the weight of the person as they stand. I've found plenty of newer murder victim's before, but the unnerving stillness of the shell of a body left behind is what I hate. They still look functioning and alive.

Our victim this time was a young woman around twenty who went missing two weeks ago. Her name was Lisa Cornell and she was reported missing when she didn't return home from her hike to her mother and father. They suspected she was hitchhiking because of the fact that she'd crashed her car that past month, and often times arrived home driven by someone else. Search parties went out during the day, steering clear of the area at night, because who knows what type of phantoms lurk in the forest after dark. But then, all hope was lost. Oh no, they didn't find the body. _That_ was still unaccounted for. What they'd found was what the body had left behind.

A family with a young girl was driving through the area at night when the child had spotted a figure in the woods. She screamed, causing her father to stop the car. It was Lisa alright. Devoid of color or life, but there. At least, this is the description George gave us over breakfast that morning at 35 Portland Row. Luckily, the car sped off before the Spector could charge them.

But we didn't have any form of vehicle to make a speedy escape in, my friends and I. All we had were our rapiers, salt bombs and flares, emergency tea, chocolate, and double mint gum, and last, a grumpy old skull. It was becoming nighttime as our cab sped off, the driver remarking that he'd send someone by morning to get us before departing.

"This should be charming," Lockwood said, looking into the treeline.

The forest was clad in black and blue hues, the spindly tops of the trees crowned with gold from the setting sun. It looked as welcoming as it did foreboding, as counterintuitive as that is. Like a witch's cabin that smelled of cookies, but when you went inside, only death awaited you. To cut it short, I'd seen plenty of haunted forests before, but this one seemed to stretch endlessly. What seemed like miles of trees stretched along the roadside, and that sense of dread when you know someone's died in a certain location filled my lungs like water.

"Charming," I echoed, "Yeah."

The sun was setting fast, and the first prickles of stars began to scatter across the sky. I pulled my parka around me more tightly to avoid the chill that the autumn night brought, zipping it up to my chin.

"Let's get started, then, "Lockwood said cheerily, "George has already briefed us on what to expect, so we're pretty much set. No splitting up. One of us could get lost, so holding hands would probably be the best way to avoid that. Holly, you go with Lucy and I'll-"

Holly looked at me then at Lockwood before smiling politely in that way that she does. "No, no. I'll go with George. You go with Luce."

I gave her a quizzical raise of the eyebrow, but Lockwood merely nodded.

"Fine. That's fine. Lucy and I are together. We should probably head out now before it gets too dark to see. Use flashlights if you need to. I have a GPS map of the forest so we can find our way out again. Holly, I have one for you or George to take in case we get separated."

George stepped forward, taking the small device and putting it into the pocket of his coat. "I'll take it."

"Fine. Any questions, then?"

Nobody had any, so that was that.

Lockwood stepped to the side, capturing my hand in his. A funny tickling feeling filled my stomach, and I pushed it out of my mind. How bad could this be?

* * *

The forest was full of deep shadows and tall trees. The moon had begun to rise, a sliver of a thing, but the sky was clear, so it spilled its bit of silvery light upon the trees. Lockwood's hand was warm and present against my own, and the night was getting chillier. So far, as I used my inner ear, I heard nothing.

"See anything?" I asked Lockwood, who shook his head. His pale skin was luminescent in the rising moonlight, and the flick of dark hair on his forehead stood out profoundly.

"Hear anything?"

"No."

"We haven't got anything back here either," Holly said, and George said something I couldn't quite hear. Whatever it was, Holly told him to sod off. I smirked.

With my free hand, I reached into my backpack to twist the tap on the top of the skull's jar, and it's grating voice filled my head.

 _"About time."_

"Shut it. Do you sense anything?"

 _"No. Don't be mean, or I won't help you."_

I wrinkled my nose. "You're mean all the time."

 _"I'm dead. That's allowed."_ It retorted.

"The skull jar of any help, Luce?" Lockwood asked. I shook my head.

"None at all."

 _"Hey! I've helped you with how many cases now, and you smear my name to mister pretty boy? I thought you were better than that, Lucy."_

"Sod off, skull."

 _"Oh? What is it that set you off there? You sound quite mad."_

"I'm not," I sighed, glancing at Lockwood, who looked half amused.

 _"Liar,"_ it jeered.

"Am not. Stop teasing me."

Laughter. _"It's fun, though. The only thing that gets my ectoplasm pumping."_

"Just me? You seem to find it fun to make faces at people who can't hear you."

 _"Oh yes. Holly's reactions are priceless. But I do like to hear what Lockwood says when he's alone."_

"As much as I'd like to hear that, now isn't time to gossip," I drawled, "still nothing to report?"

"You gossip with the skull?" Lockwood asked, amusement in his voice.

"Occasionally," I pinched the bridge of my nose, "or more, it tells me things and I hear them."

Lockwood stopped suddenly, causing me to stumble. He used the hand that wasn't holding mine to steady me.

"Luce, look."

I looked where he was pointing to see a figure. It was a woman, bathed in a dull blue glow. She wore an oversized windbreaker and jeans, her feet covered by a pair of hiking boots. her hair was ashy blond, and I couldn't see the details of her face, as she was facing away from us. I had a feeling I didn't want her to turn around. Inky ectoplasm dripped from her fingertips, fat drops saturating the leaves below. Despite her not facing us, a melancholy feeling poured off her like water, washing over us. I shook my head to clear it of the cobwebs caused by the miasma, reaching down to pull my rapier free.

"Do you see any death glows?" I hissed, but Lockwood shook his head.

"No. I'm sure I will eventually with this most likely being a murder and all. I'll be bright. I'm glad I brought my sunglasses," he toyed with the button to the case, which was snapped to his belt for later use.

I looked over my shoulder to look at George and Holly. But when I looked, my heart shot to my throat. They were gone. All that I could see was the yawning darkness of the forest trail. Neither of our friends was present. Where could they have gone? Could they have gotten lost? Had they walked away? This wasn't good.

"Um... Lockwood?"

"Yes?"

"Look at this."

Lockwood turned to look over his shoulder, his face going blank at the sight of the empty trail. "Where did they go?"

I felt panic begin to rise, but I tried my hardest to suppress it; it's never good to panic in front of a ghost. They feed off of negative emotions. It makes them stronger.

"I don't know," I managed, swallowing the panic.

 _"Turn around, Lucy,"_ the skull said, surprising me with its abrupt command.

Then, we realized it was a bad idea to turn our backs on a ghost.

The prickle of ghostly chill made the hair on the back of my neck rise, and we turned back around to come face to face with the ghost. It was right to feel that I didn't want to see her front. The specter had been sliced across the chest, her white shirt painted crimson. The gash reached her left shoulder, blood in the form of ectoplasm dripping down to run off her hand. Her throat had been cut, too. Her face looked incredibly sad, eyes blue and glossy, their color faded, and her mouth was turned down into a violent frown.

"Spectre," Lockwood whispered.

All I could do was nod at this. She'd died violently enough to retain the injuries that killed her. Lockwood drew his rapier, tugging the two of us back away from the apparition. Ghost fog coated the ground, thick and sickly green. Other light surrounded the phantom like silk scarves.

It stepped forward after us.

A scream ripped through the air, and I winced, longing to slam my hands over my ears, but they were occupied with my sword and Lockwood's hand.

"Did you hear that?" I hissed, ears still ringing. Lockwood shook his head.

"What was it?" He asked.

"A scream. Damn, that was loud."

I trained my talent on the figure, tapping into my inner ear to see if I could hear more.

A sobbing voice flooded my head like a tidal wave, and I could feel terror dull my senses.

 _"Please... Please no! Let me go! I wanna go home! Please don't hurt me! Why are you doing this? No... No, NOO!"_

I was gasping for air as the pleas to be spared filled my head until they went silent with terrified shrieks. I hadn't noticed Lockwood had released my hand to rush at the ghost, a salt bomb leaving his hand to scatter at the ghost's feet. A psychic shriek filled my ears and I winced.

"It's a loud one!" I called, and Lockwood sent me a grin.

"Death glow! I see it! It's over there, behind that tree. I see something, a shape! Lucy, go! Contain the source!"

I ran behind the tree he indicated at as his rapier sang through the air. The burning of ectoplasm against iron tickled my nose as I nearly slid across the ground. I switched on my flashlight to assess what I was seeing.

It was a body alright. The throat had been cut so forcefully that the head had almost been cut clean off, and the ground was covered in dried blood. The cut across the torso was deep, the shirt as stained with red as her apparition. The eyes were wide open, glazed over. The stages of decomposition had already begun, and the smell of the body hit me like a railcar. It was like the raw meat had been left out in the sun and allowed to rot. I felt bile in my throat, and I clamped my hand over my nose.

I fished a silver net out from my belt, spreading it into its full size before draping it over the body. Just like always, I felt the pressure dissipate in my ears as I did so. Lockwood came over in a brisk jog, covering his nose as he came around the tree.

"Well," he said, voice muffled by his hand, "we found Lisa."

* * *

We were able to find Holly and George fairly easily, as they'd made their way out of the forest with the GPS Lockwood had given them. They were unharmed and glad to see were okay.

The whole area was swarming with police and Fittes agents a few hours before sunrise, and all four of us were dead tired.

"You found the body?" George asked, and I nodded, wrinkling my nose.

"The smell was awful," I said, "Worse than other bodies we've found."

George looked amused. "Worse than Mrs. Seabury?"

I nodded, sighing to compose myself. No need to get worked up. It was all in a day's work for an agent.

Holly came up behind me, her eyebrows arched into a look of sympathy.

"Sorry you had to see that, Lucy. I would have vomited."

I shrugged. "I've seen worse. But thank you."

Our cab came to get us, just like the driver from the night before had said. All of us gratefully got in. I needed a strong cup of tea and a good nap after this.

On the ride back to the house, I fell asleep on Lockwood's shoulder.

The skull teased me about that for an entire week.

* * *

 _ **OKAY, WHY DO THESE ALWAYS END UP BEING LIKE 3,000 WORDS?**_

 _ **It's hard to fit a ghost story into a short chapter.**_

 _ **Anyway, I've already begun to work on the next chapter, so expect that to be up soon.**_

 _ **Love ya!**_

 _ **~Starry**_


	4. The Severed Skater

_**This prompt was from Summerfern ages ago. I'm so sorry I didn't write this earlier. Tbe draft of the half written story was sitting in my docs for ages and I never finished it for some reason.**_

 _ **I really liked the skater idea, but even though the chapter title didn't really sit with me, I could find any synonyms for 'severed' that didn't sound dumb.**_

 _ **So we have the severed skater.**_

 _ **ALSO I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE WITH A HAUNTED SKATING RINK SO BEAR WITH ME.**_

 _ **But I know I'm gonna have fun writing the L &C crew slipping and sliding across the ice trying to catch a ghost.**_

* * *

 _Case #4: The Severed Skater_

Skating rinks are a place of memories. They are home to the laughter of children and the scrape of skates against the gleaming ice. I used to love them as a kid, though many times my family couldn't afford to go to one. They were quite enjoyable when I _was_ able to go, that is when I wasn't falling on my bum. Skating rinks in the daytime are quite nice, glowing with sunlight and shimmering ice.

I'd never been in a skating rink at night, and I never thought I would be. But after this case, that would change.

Our client, Ms. Alice Tulane was a teacher of figure skating. She had been an Olympic skater before becoming a teacher for children and teens. She was quite good from what we'd heard, winning a silver medal two years in a row. I'd watched a few videos of her on the ice, and she was well deserving of those medals. She was a tall, elegant woman with features that looked almost painted onto her thin face. She had piercing blue eyes and blonde hair, the latter pulled back into a tight bun. Her face was smooth and young at her thirty-five years of age, and during her meeting with Lockwood, George, Holly and me, she smelled strongly of a rosy perfume.

Ms. Tulane was very vague, as she wasn't the one there at the time of the incident, but one night, one of her students was practicing late for a tournament when she'd been ghost-touched. She'd fortunately screamed loud enough out of the shock of seeing the apparition that one of the rink's janitors had come running, mop still in hand, and upon seeing what happened had called an ambulance. Ms. Tulane was informed of this by the janitor the next morning upon coming for her 7:00 class, and had been rejected by Fittes upon asking them for help. They were apparently too swamped, and the Ms. Tulane had remarked irritably to us that she would never ask them for help again. Holly, who had been taking notes later said to me that Ms. Tulane was a rather impatient woman.

Around the time her afternoon class ended, we arrived at the skating rink to talk to the girl who had been injured, as she knew more about what had happened than her teacher. Said teacher had us watch the end of the class, but I personally don't find any point in learning how to skate across ice gracefully. That may be prejudice speaking as I'm completely awful at ice skating. Every time I've done it I've fallen flat on my backside rather unceremoniously. Figure skating isn't exactly my calling. So yes, I avoid the ice in fear of hurting myself or others. Fun fact about me, I'm not very graceful. Everyone at 35 Portland Row can back _that_ up.

The injured pupil was a toned girl with a pretty face, her auburn hair glinting like copper under the light. She was wearing a pair of spandex leggings and a pullover fleece jacket in a sickening shade of neon pink. A pair of white figure skates were tied together to drape over her shoulder, and a pair of trainers were on her feet. Gauze was wound tightly around her left hand, and a shade of cool blue crept out across the skin left exposed, but was covered for the most part. With a prick of pain, it reminded me of the time Lockwood got ghost-touched.

"Kylee Rogers?" Lockwood said as we approached the girl, and her eyes flew up from her phone. He flashed her a megawatt grin, and I could have sworn I saw her knees wobble.

"Y-yes?" She answered, looking the four of us up and down. Her eyes lingered longest on Lockwood, and I sighed. This was normal with girls our age.

Lockwood's good looks and megawatt smiles stole hearts, and oblivious as he was, girls went crazy over him. Or maybe he did know, and used that to his advantage. Lockwood was sometimes hard to read.

Lockwood extended his hand, grin still on his face, "hello, Miss Rogers, my name is Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood & Company, and these are my associates, Lucy Carlyle, George Cubbins, and Holly Munroe. We're here to get rid of the ghost."

Kylee nodded mutely, taking Lockwood's hand and shaking. She held on for a tad too long before Lockwood pulled away with a dry chuckle.

"How may I help you, Mr. Lockwood?" she asked, and I heard Holly stifle a snicker behind me.

If Lockwood heard Holly, he ignored her. "According to your teacher, you're the one that experienced the visitation. Can you tell us what you saw? Holly, get your notepad ready, we'll need some notes."

Holly nodded, withdrawing a small notepad from her coat.

"Well," Kylee gulped, "I was practicing for the tournament next week, and when I was in the middle of my routine, the room got very cold. Well, colder than usual. I thought nothing of it, maybe Mandy had come to practice too and the door had let a cold gust of air in. It is the winter, after all. But it didn't go away, and I started seeing some sort of light reflecting off the ice. And when I turned around, I saw her. She was so beautiful, doing toe-loops and jumps more perfect than I've even seen Ms. Tulane do. But the next thing I knew, she was coming towards me, still dancing, and I screamed. That's all I remember before I blacked out. And I woke up in the hospital with this on my arm."

Lockwood nodded, sympathy glittering in his dark eyes, "yes, thank you Miss Rogers. Holly did you get that? Good. Ghost-touch is a nasty thing. I've gotten it myself before."

"You have?"

Lockwood nodded. "On one of the first cases I did with Lucy," he gestured to me, and I'm pretty sure I gave the most half-assed smile in the universe. It wasn't returned.

"Well!" Lockwood put his hands together, "fine. Thank you for your information, Miss Rogers. We will take it from here."

The girl swallowed thickly before scurrying out the door, looking back at Lockwood every so often.

"She was giving you the eye," George said, voice quivering with ill-contained mirth.

"Was she?" Lockwood chuckled, "I wasn't paying attention to that."

Holly let the snicker she'd been holding back slip, and I smiled in response.

"They always do, Lockwood. You're too daft to see it sometimes."

Lockwood smiled, mischief glinting in his eyes, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

After a few years in the field, you'll learn that a lot of agent work is waiting rather than the romanticized ghost battles portrayed in television shows and comic books. Sitting on a bench with iron chains, biscuits and tea in hand, a glowing green jar with a aged skull nailed to the bottom sitting beside you. Most agents don't have a skull like I do, but the waiting thing is pretty much a shared trait among all agencies.

Lockwood sat about two feet from me on the bench, gloved hands folded on his lap. We were facing the ice, the dimmed lights giving it a pale blue glow.

"Anything yet?" I asked, and Lockwood chewed his lip.

"Nope. I haven't seen hide nor hair of this thing yet. Have you heard anything?"

I smiled wryly. "Nothing but the skull."

"Go figure."

 _"Why didn't you think to ask me?"_

I sighed, "Skull, Lockwood can't hear you. He can't ask you anything without me to translate what you say."

 _"Oh. Right. I forgot about that depressing bit. It's such a shame, I would have loved to scream into the night and keep you all up. If it's just you, it's boring."_

I shuddered, remembering the time I'd left the tap open at night. I'd twisted it closed at around two in the morning, and had slept until well after noon the next day.

"That's why I no longer leave your damn tap open at night, Skull. You do things like _that._ So Lockwood is somewhat lucky he can't hear you."

Lockwood chuckled. "My ears are burning, Luce."

I rolled my eyes. "The skull is just being a git again."

 _"I'm less of a git than George."_

I looked at the jar pointedly. "Shut it."

"What did it say?" Lockwood asked, his smile bemused.

"Nothing relating to the case," I sighed.

 _"How do you know it isn't, hm?"_ Came the ghost's jeer.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Because calling someone a git isn't relating to anything but your own amusement in this case. No pun intended."

 _"Oh, I think it was very intended."_

"It wasn't," I growled.

"Luce, I see something," Lockwood said from beside me, nudging my shoulder. I looked at the ice.

Something was there. It looked as if every one of the muted colors making up the figure had been covered in pale green light, the glimmer spilling onto the ice around the dancing spirit. She was dressed in a skating costume, hair back in a bun, a delicate silver tiara nestled back against the bundle of hair. Her sleeves were wide and puffed at the shoulders, slimming down to fit against her arms. They ended in a glove-like way, the middle of the sleeve connecting to her middle finger. The top of the dress was covered in glimmering beads, the skirt flared and short. It spun as she danced, slender legs tossing her into the air to land perfectly. The sight was mesmerizing.

I hadn't realized I'd stood up until Lockwood grabbed my wrist. "Ghost lock, Luce. Come back to the bench."

I shook my head a few times, hitting myself on the cheek to clear the fog from my head. "Right," I said, "sorry."

Holly and George were nowhere to be found, but I assumed they saw the same glimmering spectacle we did. Ghost fog covered the ice like snow, the spectral skater drifting through it like it wasn't even there. I could hear faint whispers from the ice, the skater's hollow eyes training on Lockwood and me.

"Temperature dropping," Lockwood remarked, the glow from his thermometer lighting up his elegant features.

"I know," I said, "I can feel it."

"Lucy, is that ghost coming this way?"

I tore my gaze away from Lockwood to look back at the ice. And sure enough, graceful as a dove, the visitor was coming towards us at a rather brisk pace.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," I replied.

"Damn, it isn't just my imagination. It can't come off the ice, right?"

Wrong. As if the door to the ice wasn't even there, and like the floor was ice itself, the specter glided on towards us.

"Iron chains," Lockwood said, drawing his rapier with a squeal of iron on Velcro, "we're safe. Throw a salt bomb."

The specter began to dance around the circle of chains in a broad arabesque, fingertips avoiding the sizzling iron just barely. Lockwood swung his rapier into action, the iron singing as it sliced ectoplasm. The ghost wailed as it glided backwards, attempting to rush at the chains, only to be met by the invisible barrier, which it pawed at painfully.

I plucked a salt bomb from my belt, lobbing it at the ghost like Lockwood had told me to do. The ghost darted backwards with a shrill wail, the blast pushing it back through the gate onto the ice, the force of the spectral energy blowing the small door open completely. It skated around the rink with the faint scrape of blades against ice, though I was fairly sure this was a sound Lockwood didn't hear. After making another lap, it took off into a hallway, passing through walls as it went.

"After it," Lockwood ordered, and he took off into a sprint. I haphazardly shoved the skull into my backpack with a not-so-polite string of words, but Lockwood's shout to hurry made me leave it behind as I hurried after him, despite the protests from the ghost in the jar.

You see, Lockwood has long legs. He can move quickly when he needs to, and rapier training for many hours at a time makes for excellent stamina. He's remarkably physically strong for someone so slender. The too-tight suits he wears accent his build, not that I myself spend time looking, it's just something I observed. I, on the other hand, am not fast. My legs are of average length for a girl my age, maybe on the shorter side. Even though I sometimes spar with Lockwood or practice on our rapier dummies to take out my frustrations, I balance that with too many cookies and spending time curled up in the library. Sometimes, I do both these things at the same time. But my point is, when we chase after specters like this, Lockwood is in the front, I am behind. And that was how it was at that moment as we chased after the spirit on the skates as it drifted effortlessly across the concrete floor.

It took a sharp turn at a hallway, and I slammed into a rack of hockey sticks as I attempted to turn after it. They clattered to the ground noisily, and my shout of surprise and pain made Lockwood pause a moment.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" I assured him as I began to run again, not bothering to right the scattered equipment. "I'll pick it up later."

Lockwood's hand came to grasp my free one, pulling me along with him. "Keep up, Luce. We need to find the vanishing point."

In other, less life threatening situations, I would have probably cared more about the fact that he was now holding my hand, but as the ghost rounded on us and dashed back the way it came, Lockwood slammed the both of us against the wall, and I gasped in pain as my back made heavy contact with the cinder blocks. The spirit dashed past us as we stood chest to chest against the wall, my face turning the shade of a ripe strawberry.

I would have said something if Lockwood didn't tug us back into action as soon as we had enough room to run. He was moving fast, his coat flaring behind him as he ran, and I was just trying my best not to trip over my own feet. The spirit was on the ice again, and Lockwood halted suddenly, the momentum causing me to crash face first into his back, my nose slamming painfully against his spine.

The pain made my eyes tingle, and I groaned.

"You okay, Luce?" Lockwood said, his voice thin from the run as he panted for air.

"Fine," I said, rubbing at my nose after putting my rapier back in my belt, "just warn me before you stop like that so I don't almost break my bloody face."

A chuckle. "Sorry about that."

I came around his side to watch as the ghost stood motionless on the ice, back straight and arms gracefully arched above her head. Finally, with a rush of psychic pressure, she skated into a wall of lockers on the opposite side of the rink, disappearing.

"There," I said, and Lockwood grunted in assent.

He let go of my hand, and instead of going around the rink like I would have, he pushed open the gate onto the ice and began to step on.

I stood where he'd left me with a dumbfounded expression as I watched him. "What the hell are you doing?"

He looked back at me, mirth in his eyes. "Crossing the rink, Luce."

I stared. "Why don't you just go around?"

Lockwood gave me a megawatt grin. "We have to check everywhere, Lucy. The source might be on the ice, you never know. And I think I might see a faint death glow."

I myself couldn't see death glows, so I dodn't know if he was telling the truth or not. But I did see the ghost disappear into the wall and not the ice, so I knew the source was likely somewhere over there instead of in the middle of the ice.

I stared some more, my eyes narrowing. "No, this is just an excuse you're making up to go on the ice, you idiot."

Mischief was evident in his smile. "Nonsense. We've gotta do our jobs, Luce."

I really had no power to stop Lockwood, and on the rare occasion he did something like this, he did it no matter what anyone said. But in this case, I wouldn't be part of it. I sighed. "I'll just go around then, you have fun."

Or I wouldn't have. That is, if he hadn't grabbed my hands and pulled me onto the ice. I slipped as he did this, my legs flying out from under me, and I was horizontal in the air for a split second, hands connected to Lockwood's, but then gravity took hold and I fell hard, landing flat on my stomach. All the air shot out of my lungs forcefully, making me give an inelegant wheeze. The pull of my hands connected to his made Lockwood stumble, but he only landed on his backside.

The position we landed in resulted in my head resting between his knees. Needless to say, I struggled to stand, coughing to refill my lugs and reclaim my dignity. My skirt had flown up in the fall, but my leggings had protected my modesty. Lockwood managed to stand up, but he nearly slipped again, catching himself on my shoulder. But unfortunately, Lockwood is taller than me, and his weight sent me sliding back into the wall of the skating rink. The slide pulled Lockwood with me, and his hipbone slammed into my lower stomach. I yelped in pain, and Lockwood sighed.

"This... This was a bad idea."

I coughed, wincing at my now bruised back. "Oh, you think?"

Lockwood tried to push himself back, but he simply fell backwards, legs flying out from under him. His feet knocked my own legs out from under me, and I fell forward, landing squarely on top of him. At that moment, I was glad I'd left my backpack with the skull jar on the bench before we'd gave chase to the ghost skater, because if I hadn't, my back would be in poorer shape than it already was from being banged into so many things one after the other.

In the fall, my elbow had jabbed Lockwood in the stomach, and he grunted in pain. "A _very_ bad idea," he coughed.

I looked above his head to the rest of the ice rink we had to cross, and then back to the gate we'd just come from. We had barely walked-sorry, _slipped_ -a meter.

"I'm never going ice skating again," I grumbled, and Lockwood smiled.

I managed to roll off Lockwood and onto the ice, and it took some effort to crawl to the side and hoist myself up using the metal railing that was conveniently placed there. Slowly, with sliding feet, I very clumsily made my way to the middle of the rink, and Lockwood wasn't far behind me. His hair had been mussed from the multiple tumbles, and flecks of ice were scattered in his forelock and on his coat. His cheeks and nose were pink from the cold of the ice. I'm sure I was more or less the same, but I looked far less elegant than he did.

"I hate everything about this," I growled, and Lockwood chuckled sheepishly.

"It wasn't a death glow, it was just one of the lights shining funny on the ice."

Annoyance turned to a low simmer in my belly. "Lockwood..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but we're almost there."

I looked at the closest gate and back to the one we came from. "This is your fault."

"I know. And you're already mad at me, so I think it would be a bad idea for me to mention that I may have..."

I looked pointedly back at him. "You may have what?"

His smile was sheepish. "I may have done this partially to come onto the ice. I haven't skated since I was a kid. But I didn't expect you to slip so much."

I rolled my eyes. "I expected as much."

As we reached the gate, I launched myself across the ice in an ungraceful arabesque of waving limbs and wobbling knees, falling headlong across it when I failed to push it open to let myself through. I stood up, rubbing my head with muttered curses. Lockwood managed to open the gate, but he stumbled down the steps instead of falling like I did. I approached the lockers, my gait stumbling as I got used to solid ground again. Lockwood was remarkably agile even after that, which didn't surprise me. He looked elegant and poised even when he tripped.

The locker was the last one on the right, near a door that lead to a locker room for changing. I grunted as I tried to shove the metal container out of the way to see behind it, and Lockwood was beside me after a moment of struggling.

We managed to push the locker about a foot, and a we were met with the dirty fabric of a tarp covering a hole. It was held in place with rusty nails, haphazardly placed, and the tarp came off in one tear with my crowbar.

There was a hole behind the tarp, and sitting at the bottom was a severed head. It was decayed, the skin stretched taunt over the skull. The eyes were closed, but they were hollow, the eyeballs rotted away. The silver tiara was on top of the head, same as the spirit was wearing, hair in a once neat bun.

"Charming," I heard Lockwood say behind me, and I just grunted.

I was glad I was wearing gloves as I picked the head up by the hair bun, dropping it unceremoniously into a silver chain link pouch. Psychic pressure that I hadn't realized was there before shrank away as the source was encased in the woven links of silver.

Lockwood began to walk back to the gate, but I grabbed his arm.

"No. Not again. I am _not_ slipping and falling on my arse when I have a head in a pouch in my hand."

Lockwood smiled. "I was just teasing. We are never doing that again."

"Good."

George and Holly had to sit down when we told them about our adventures in ice dancing, but we all had a mutual need to get going as not to look at the rotting head of the severed skater any longer than we had to. Now that it was out of the space behind the wall which had been kept cold because of the ice, it was beginning to smell.

We were more than glad to burn it in the Fittes furnace.

We took a night taxi home after leaving the furnaces, and skating across the ice without skates or any skill is apparently tiring, because I fell asleep against Lockwood's shoulder, and when I was jostled awake by George when we got home, Lockwood's cheek rested on the top of my head.

Holly thought it was adorable, and I could tell from the way she was smiling.

George brought it up every chance he could get all week.

* * *

 _ **That is four thousand words and it took me longer than ever omg.**_

 _ **But I've gotta thank my good friend and fellow Locklyle shipper Midnight for help with the ice shenanigans. She's hilarious and I love her and she makes everything 10x funnier. Don't ever change man.**_

 _ **Anyway, I had fun writing this, and I hope you had fun reading it! Leave your requests in the reviews if you have any prompts!**_

 _ **Cheers!**_

 _ **~Starry**_


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